


Right Out The Door

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-05
Updated: 2006-03-05
Packaged: 2018-08-16 00:50:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8080276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Malcolm gets his revenge. (05/25/2003)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: I knew even before I'd written 'Gone To the Dogs' that Malcolm would have to get his own back. This really struck me as something he would do.  
  
With thanks to Kageygirl for her excellent nit-picking and Monkey-slaps, and Squeaky for the plot points, and to both of them laughing when I told them the idea.  


* * *

Trip Tucker woke suddenly in absolute darkness. There was something warm pressed over his mouth, pinning his head down.

"Shhh. It's me." Malcolm's voice, cutting like a knife through his rising panic. The lieutenant wasn't whispering, but speaking so softly Trip had to strain to hear. "I need you to be absolutely silent, all right?"

Trip nodded against Malcolm's hand, and the pressure was released. His mouth felt cold with the sudden absence. He eased himself upright, wincing as the bed's wooden joints creaked. Malcolm had moved somewhere else in the tiny room; in a moment the oil lantern on the low table flickered to life, glowing dimly with a weak, smoking flame.

He could make out Malcolm's features now, and the lieutenant gave him a small smile that flickered like the lamplight. He was fully dressed in their manufactured equivalent of the local garb, Trip noted, though it was very late at night. He wondered if Malcolm had gone to bed at all.

The lieutenant's face was drawn with worry, his eyes shadowed in the low light. The prosthetics running along his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose—fashioned to look like the favored ritual scarring—stood out in dark relief, making his face look narrower and almost sinister.

"Get dressed," Malcolm said. He glanced at the door, tilted his head slightly as if listening for a noise. "We have to get out of here."

Trip was up immediately, rummaging at the three-legged stool where he had left his clothes. "What is it?" he asked Malcolm, trying hard to pitch his voice just as low. He could feel the beginnings of real fear coiling up his guts: he hadn't seen the armory officer look this anxious in a very long time.

Malcolm crossed the tiny distance between them like a cat. He spoke right into Trip's ear, voice so quiet he was all but mouthing the words. "I couldn't sleep. I overheard the men who took the room next door to mine. They were talking about robbing the strangers, the merchantwoman and her two male companions. We're the only ones who fit that description." He paused for breath and Trip stayed perfectly still as he waited. "They agreed that they'd kill us—one taking each of us and slitting our throats."

"Sweet Jesus," Trip murmured. There was no way they could defend themselves without calling attention to their foreignness, their advanced technology. Not to mention that the majority of these people were _big_. Certainly bigger than Hoshi. Trip didn't think she'd be able to fight them off. "How long till they make their move?"

"Maybe ten minutes," Malcolm answered immediately. "If we're lucky." He glanced at the door again, putting his hand up to stop any sound from Trip. "Get dressed," he said again when he looked back. "I need to get Hoshi. Meet us in her room as soon as you can."

He nodded, and Malcolm left as silently as he'd come in. Trip swallowed, began pulling on his clothes as fast as he could without making any noise.

When he was wearing everything but his boots, Trip eased the door to his room open, wincing at every protesting creak of the old hinges. He was carrying his boots, but he'd left his daypack behind. Anything modern and incriminating was already tucked into the pockets of his clothes.

He didn't knock on Hoshi's door, not wanting to make that much noise. Instead, he pushed the door open as slowly and silently as possible.

Malcolm grabbed him by the arm, yanking him inside before Trip could even blink, let alone make a sound. Malcolm had his free hand in a fist, his arm pulled far back for a devastating blow. But he obviously realized whom he'd grabbed, and his arm dropped immediately.

"Sorry," Malcolm said softly, patting Trip's chest.

"No problem," Trip answered. "Hi, Hoshi."

The oil lamp in her room had been lit as well, and he could just make out Hoshi's face as she gave him the briefest of nods. Her eyes were big and frightened, looking almost ghostly because of the light green contacts she was wearing; no one on this part of the planet had dark eyes. Her hair had been dyed a nondescript light brown, and with the fake scars spiraling around each eye, she looked like a different person: almost fey, ethereally beautiful. She was also already dressed, also carrying her boots.

"Glad you could join us," Malcolm said. The sarcasm was evident even with his voice pitched almost too low to carry. But he'd moved to the door before Trip could reply, pulling it open silently and peering out into the dark hallway. He gestured for the other two to follow him and stepped out of the room. He was already wearing his boots, but even so his steps made almost no noise.

He turned back to the two of them when they were all in the corridor. "We'll have to get back to the shuttlepod—we can't risk anyone seeing a transport." He stared fiercely at Trip and Hoshi. " _No_ noise." He waited until they both nodded before he turned around and began moving.

Trip groaned inwardly, though his entire concentration was focused on following Malcolm down the hall and the inn's wooden stairs without making a sound. The shuttle was two hours away on foot, a walk Trip didn't much relish having to make in the dark.

Though, of course, it was much better than being dead. Trip resisted an urge to look behind him, knowing that Hoshi's keen ears would pick up anyone coming after them.

It seemed to take forever to get down the stairs, though there were scarcely fifteen steps between the main room of the inn and the second story where all the guest rooms were. Malcolm kept stopping to listen, forcing Trip and Hoshi to freeze immediately behind him. Trip clenched his jaw, wondering how many minutes had passed since Malcolm had woken him, wondering if the robbers were going to barrel into them at any moment. The suspense was nearly unbearable by the time they were finally on the smooth wooden floor.

The main room was deserted at this time of night. The fire in the giant hearth was only glowing ashes, adding almost no light to the large room. Luckily, their eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough so they were able to avoid the maze of wooden tables and chairs.

The door had been bolted for the night, but at least there was no lock on it—Trip wasn't sure that Malcolm could handle a padlock, even one that had been forged with low-quality iron—He couldn't help looking behind him while he waited for Malcolm to gently coax the door open. They were still the only ones in the room, but that might mean the robbers just hadn't realized they were gone yet. Hoshi had her head turned as well, her entire body rigid with fear. They both almost jumped out of their skins at the tiny _snick_ of the bolt sliding back.

And then the door was finally open, with the cool night and safety just beyond. Trip grabbed Hoshi's hand as they went through the door, though he wasn't certain whether it was more for her comfort or his. He was crushing his boots to his chest, terrified they'd bang against the wood.

The street was bathed in thick moonlight, bright enough that it made Trip's eyes sting. This planet had four moons: their nights were never dark. At least the moonlight would make it easier to find their way through the twisting alleyways and out of the town.

They both waited only a second, sure that Malcolm was right behind them, that the lieutenant would slowly pull the door closed and then the three of them could run off into the darkness. Hopefully they wouldn't have to go too far before he and Hoshi could put their boots on—the streets were uneven cobblestones and promised to be painful under bare feet.

But the second passed and Malcolm wasn't leading them. Instead, there was a noise behind them: a polite clearing of a throat.

Trip and Hoshi whirled, facing the doorway again. Malcolm was standing there, grinning at them both, one hand still on the door.

"Just kidding," he said brightly, then slammed the door shut. The heavy _thump_ of wood hitting wood reverberated out into the night.

Hoshi and Trip looked at each other, stunned. Then Trip launched himself at the door. "Son of a bitch!" He thudded into it, but it had been well and truly bolted from the inside. "Son of a _bitch_! Malcolm! MALCOLM!" He pounded against the wood with the side of his fist. "Malcolm! Open the goddamn door!"

He felt Hoshi's small hands on his shoulders, yanking him away from the stoop. He turned and glowered at her. "What?"

"Do you want to wake the whole street?" Hoshi glared right back at him.

"Shit." Trip paced out into the street, raking his hands through his hair. He turned around, looking up at the high walls of the inn. The building had no windows; it seemed to gloat over them, like a squat, black monolith. There was no way to get back inside. He eyed the door, wondering if he could bust the bolt if he had a good running start and threw himself at it.

Hoshi had obviously figured out what he was thinking. "That is a really stupid idea."

Trip turned to her, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, what do you wanna do—wait here until someone opens the door? Walk two hours to the shuttlepod?" He scowled back at the building. "I'm gonna kill him."

Hoshi had her hands on her hips. "Me first," she said. She glanced at Trip's bare feet, shining palely in the moonlight. "If you're going to kick the door down, you should at least put your boots on."

Trip stalked over to where he'd dropped his boots when he'd thrown himself at the door, and shoved his feet into them, yanking on the laces like he was garroting someone's neck. "He's been planning this for months, hasn't he?" He finished with his boots and stood up. "Makin' us believe we were about to get our throats cut. Scared me outta a year's growth. Devious bastard." He swung his right leg back and aimed a vicious kick at the door. His foot connected with a noise like a stone hitting a tree. The door didn't budge.

"Ow," Trip said. He limped gingerly off the stoop, favoring his hurt foot.

Hoshi winced in sympathy. "Are you okay?"

"Well, that didn't work." Trip sat heavily on the stoop, right leg stretched out in front of him. He gave Hoshi a baleful look. "Got any more bright ideas?"

"I didn't tell you to kick the door!" Hoshi exclaimed indignantly. "I just said that if you were _going_ to kick it, you should put your boots on."

"Well, it was a dumb idea."

"No kidding."

Trip wiggled his foot back and forth, made a face. "If my foot's broken, I'm _really_ gonna kill him."

Hoshi just sighed. It was going to be a long night.


End file.
